Unveiling Meerab [Tere Bin FF]

58. making more

Author's Note: Hi y'all! Thank you so much for all the love for the last chapter, it seems like the diabetes-inducing sweetness of Murtasim x Meerab x Meesam resonated with a lot of you. I just love the three of them together so much because the show robbed us so bad! But we shall move on swiftly - Meesam is a bit older here and this chapter focuses more on her parents. I meant to have this chapter up last week but got super busy - but this chapter is a whole 30 pages so it's like two updates in one! See you on the other side, I hope y'all enjoy this one too!

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Meerab stared at the third pregnancy test in disbelief, the small digital screen glaring back at her with its stubborn result: Not Pregnant. She let out a shaky sigh, her heart sinking for what felt like the hundredth time. "Three out of three," she whispered, the words heavy in the silence of the bathroom.

The disappointment settled deep in her chest, a familiar ache she had tried to guard against but never really could. She leaned against the cool bathroom counter, trying to compose herself, but the frustration simmered just beneath her skin. Every negative test seemed to chip away at her hope, a little more each month, a slow erosion of the optimism she desperately tried to hold onto.

She knew she shouldn't let it bother her so much. After all, these things took time - people said. But each time, the hope crept in uninvited, only to leave her feeling more discouraged and angrier when it was dashed. With Meesam, it had happened so effortlessly – when they weren't even trying to get pregnant. Now, despite the endless trying, despite carefully tracking days, doing all the right things, there was nothing.

Nothing except the emptiness of disappointment.

Her hands shook slightly as she tossed the tests into the trash, the plastic clattering against the bin. She wiped at her eyes, trying to stop the tears from forming. She didn't want to feel so defeated, but it was hard not to. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to leave the bathroom and walk towards the sitting room.

The room was warm and sunlit, the late afternoon light spilling in through the sheer curtains, bouncing off the numerous pictures frames that littered the walls behind the sofa – as if it was taunting her. Murtasim looked up from where he sat, concern immediately softening his features as she walked in. She must have looked as tired and hopeless as she felt because he didn't ask for an answer. He didn't need to. He knew how to read her.

Instead, he held out his arms, and without a word, she went to him, sinking into his lap. His strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her close, and she buried her face in the crook of his neck. The familiar scent of his cologne and body wash was comforting, grounding, and she let herself melt into his embrace, her nose pressed up against his warm skin.

"It's okay," he whispered, his lips pressing gently against her hair. His voice was soothing, but the reassurance only made the ache sharper, the tears harder to keep at bay. She adjusted slightly, curling herself sideways on his lap, clutching his kurta as she tried to steady her breathing.

Maybe it was okay.

"Shayad humare naseeb mein bas ek hi bacha hai," she whispered, her voice barely audible, thick with tears.

The thought felt like both a comfort and a loss. Meesam was enough, more than enough. But still, the desire lingered, a quiet yearning that whispered of more. More laughter, more chaos, more tiny fingers gripping theirs.

Murtasim's fingers slipped into her hair, gently combing through the curled strands in a soothing rhythm. She breathed in deeply, letting the warmth of his touch anchor her.